


The Haughtiest Whore

by Mottled_System



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Controlling Dom, Dominant Kylo Ren, Domination, F/M, I'll Warn What's in Each Chapter, I'm Gonna Try And Get A Bit Of Every Possible Kink Or Fetish In This, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Masochism, Piss, Possessive Kylo Ren, Sadism, Sex Slave, Submission, Water Torture, bratty bottom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22269937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottled_System/pseuds/Mottled_System
Summary: You're a sex worker on D'Qar, which of course has led to you growing a bit close to playboy pilot Poe Dameron. Getting paid for a pretty boy to come on your feet is a good enough deal, but you'd never expect it would lead to being kidnapped by the First Order... And you'd never have expected what Kylo Ren strikes up with you for a deal. Even after you accept, you find out he has some- rather strange interests, but it's too late now.
Relationships: Ben Solo & Reader, Ben Solo & You, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren & Reader, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren & You, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/You, Ben Solo/Reader, Ben Solo/You, Kylo Ren & Reader, Kylo Ren & You, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You, Past Reader/Poe
Comments: 5
Kudos: 95





	1. Preference

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be happy to hear your nastiest, dirtiest kinks and fetishes- I want to put in a little bit of just about everything into this fic. Please and thank you!

You know the feeling of being tied up as intimately as you know the feeling of breathing, of thinking- coincidentally, both things occasionally denied to you when you’re bound. You can almost instinctively feel the presence of the stormtroopers behind you- being surrounded by dangerous men isn’t something new to you, either. You can’t see anything in front of you but the black reflectiveness of this ship- at least, you hope you’re still on a ship.

You’re not meant to be here. You’re not a Resistance fighter, though you have no love for the First Order. You don’t know much of anything- least of all whatever they’ve taken Poe and that droid onboard for. You’re not a Rebel- you’re a whore. Just because some of the Rebels, Poe included, toss a couple credits your way in exchange for some fun (even soldiers get lonely sometimes) doesn’t mean you have the answers that these people are looking for.

You wonder if you can sleep, suck, or otherwise whore yourself out of this one.

The mechanical whoosh of the doors opening tell you someone’s arriving- as well as the vaguely white blurs reflected on the wall moving, the sound of steps. “Leave us,” sounds an unfamiliar synthetic voice. The blurs leave and the door closes, leaving you and the stranger who doesn’t appear on the wall.  _ Maybe he’s a vampire _ , you muse, a poor attempt to keep your wits about you. He’s probably just wearing a hat and a black outfit.

You feel a pressure at the back of your skull and dourly push it away, as if you can will the headache away. After a long several moments where it grows, and a pressure seems to be building in the room, it surprisingly leaves. Suddenly, you doubt it was a headache- but what? Had he stabbed you with something so small you couldn’t feel the pain of the intruder, just its damage? For some reason, you doubt it. He paces into view and stops to look down at you.

He’s a tall, broad man in a black outfit- including a  _ cape _ , which was just fucking rad- and a helmet of sorts. He kind of reminds you of Darth Vader, though his mask is admittedly quite different in appearance. He stares at you silently, soulless behind the helmet. It’s like looking at a robot.

You get the feeling you probably can’t fuck your way out of this one. Certainly, any hope of leaving with some credits is out- unless, behind that mask, is some old, lonely cripple. Maybe he’d be desperate- but the man in front you distinctly feels much different from that. As much as you’d like to imagine you’d lucked yourself into the hands of some easily manipulated narcissist, you can’t stop the dread creeping up in you telling you that definitely isn’t what’s going on now. “You’re a lot scarier than I’d hoped for,” you comment, not ballsy enough to risk something snarkier. You’re sure Poe already has, anyway.

He ignores you, staring. You quickly study his body to try to discern whether or not he’s actually a droid. You’re not sure what’s more frightening- him being a droid, a machine incapable of being emotionally exploited, or him being a man standing so still, resonating such a lethal energy. “You’re not going to be able to manipulate your way out of this,” he says. His voice is emotionless, cold, empty.

“What’s your name?” you ask. When he doesn’t respond, you sigh. “I’ll think of something  _ really _ belittling to call you if you don’t tell me. Trust me- it’ll be very annoying, and-”

“Shut up.” His voice is crisp and cold, stern and demeaning.

_ Whatever you say _ \- but as if he can sense you’re about to come up with something really good, he’s shot forward like a bolt from a blaster, mask right next to your ear. Your breath hitches and then stops- all the hairs stand up on your body- your heart is beating so fast it feels like one painful vibrations, sending painful waves with the pumping of your blood.

He’d make for a wonderful dom.

“Kylo Ren,” he says quietly, probably in a growl- the voice replicator all but hisses out the low sound. His presence is like an assault on your left side, like battery acid smoothing over your skin.

You’ve heard about him- the General’s Dark son. You don’t dare think the name Poe off-handedly mentioned to you once- you almost feel like he’d  _ know _ , and he’d make you pay. “A pleasure.”

“I’m sure it is,” he says softly, the synthesizer conveying it a lot easier now. He turns and walks away from you, staring at the wall, folding his hands behind his back. You get the sense he’s- appraising the situation, deciding his plan.

“Did you kill him? Poe,” you breathe softly. You aren’t generally in the habit of forming bonds with your clients, but Poe had been a friendly face before he’d decided to solicit you.

“No.” Is his only response. You’re not sure you believe him, but you don’t see any use in pushing. You don’t  _ feel _ as if Poe’s dead, though you couldn’t really know. “The Force isn’t particularly strong with you,” he says. “And yet, still, you can use it somewhat.”

The Force. You’ve heard of it, but you don’t quite know what it is. “Okay,” you say. You want to ask him why you’re here- to get it all over with- but you’re too intimidated to.

“I can hear your thoughts,” he says suddenly. Do you believe him?  _ Yes _ . You do. “But you resisted me almost  _ easily _ before.” A sense of something like- surprised pride enters your mind, but he turns and it instantly incinerates itself. Every move he makes is daunting. Every noise he makes, makes you uncomfortable. “It isn’t a particularly impressive feat- I was hardly trying. I will get inside of you, but if you resist, it will only hurt you.”  _ Inside of you _ . You’ve spent too much of your life as a sex worker not to mentally snicker, then shift uncomfortably with the remembrance that  _ he can hear you, you great bufoon _ .

“Why are you warning me?” You ask, then immediately regret pushing your luck. Without another word, his hand raises and you feel that strange headache once more. It’s a struggle not to resist, and it feels so strange for him to overwhelm your mind. He flips through your brain as if through a catalogue, searching for- whatever he was searching for. When he’s done, he retreats, but it feels like he’s left the trace of him on every thought he’s touched- which is all of them. “That’d be pretty hot during sex,” you comment. You’d have thought it anyway, whether you wanted to or not; there was no use filtering your words, now that you knew.

“You can get the droid to trust you,” is all he says.

You consider for a moment before speaking. “What do I get in return?” It’s a risk, and you know that.

You’re expecting a reaction- anger, indignance, a sadistic amusement. Instead, his voice is calm, bored. “Your life.”  _ Your life _ . You’ve never had much use for that, have you? You wait patiently for a better offer than that. He comes closer, looming over you again. You try to act calm, despite knowing it doesn’t matter. It’s the principle of it, really- better to be a scared girl who looks defiant than just a scared girl. “You can have as many credits as you’d like for your help, if that’s what you want.”

The way he words that entices you- is there another deal he can think of that’s better than  _ as many credits as you’d like _ ? You’d never have to feel some sweaty man breathing on your lips again- or stare in amused pity as Poe worshipped your feet. You could be rich- no, more important and real to you than that, you could be  _ comfortable _ . “Do you have a better idea than that?” you ask, before remembering you don’t need to ask, really; he can hear you.

He walks away from you again, and you curiously watch him. You see him lift his hands to his mask- with a mechanical hiss, he removes it, then sets it down. His hair is long and thick and curly, black as night, and it looks as downy as a baby bantha. “You’re an insolent little slut,” he says and a rush of arousal and intrigue floods you at the strange calmness of his voice, as if he’s commenting on the weather and not propositioning you sexually. “Resistant. Persistent. It will amuse me to break you over and over again.” His words are delectable, and the voice that delivers them to you is so sexy without that stupid machine.

_ Dear God yes _ . You clear your throat, careful not to agree to anything hastily- it’s been a long time since anyone had elicited more than a vague interest or amusement from you since you were younger, new to the world of sexuality and pleasure. Still-  _ as many credits as you’d like _ . You could buy a house full of droids built to please you. You weren’t going to keep struggling just so some pretty boy will fuck you. “What exactly are you suggesting, Kylo Ren?”

“You’ll be mine,” he says. “You’ll do what I say. You’ll spend your time in my chambers- though you’ll be expected to keep to yourself unless I summon you. You can have whatever silly things you’d like- but you’ll belong to me. I’ll be your  _ god _ .”

You’d still be comfortable. You’d be a live-in fuck doll. You’d be equivalent to one of those pleasure droids you’d considered.  _ Fuck _ , that’s hot. And- you wouldn’t have to fake or force any of it. You’re already on fire for him, just from the nature of him. He  _ likes _ that you’re ‘insolent’. He’s going to  _ break you _ \- you’ve dreamt about being ruined, stolen, kept away and fucked before. He’s seen your little fantasies- and he’s interested. Of course, the arrangement will be a lot more based on  _ him _ and  _ his pleasure _ than it has been in your dreams, but… Every inch of you is dying to agree to this. “Turn around, please.”

“So eager- just give into it, silly whore,” he snarls, turning his head to the side. It’s like a gift, this glance at him- his place skin dotted with birthmarks, his dark eyes, plush lips, hooked nose- but then he turns around. “You’re right about this being for me only. If you feel pleasure, it’ll just be a byproduct of my own.”

Somehow, that’s even hotter- you’ll miss being pampered, of course, but right now you’re all but bouncing against your tight restraints in anticipation to be used. You have to tell him, though- you’re certain he already knows, but unwilling to risk anger should he have passed over that bit of information, somehow. “I’m a virgin. In the  _ main _ hole, anyway,” you tell him. “But I’m skilled with my hips still- I can still make it good for you.”

He turns his head slightly, just enough so you see him smirk. “I’m aware- such a haughty whore. That will be rectified  _ very _ quickly. And I doubt you’ll have much opportunity to show your skill in that regard.”

_ He likes control _ . Good- you’re a pillow princess. Again, he’s not out to please you, but it’s almost as if you can intuit how much  _ byproduct _ there will be from him using you like that. “Take me to the droid, then.”

The droid is gone, though- along with Poe and a rogue stormtrooper. You’re following Kylo around, but you can’t get a good feel for him now that his mask is back on. People are looking at you strangely, but you can’t be bothered to care. You’re just afraid Kylo’s going to drop you off on the nearest planet, not a credit to your name, your deal entirely out of the question- or  _ worse _ .

It’s a long time before he’s done running around and barking orders. Many people are being sent to the reprimandation bay. Eventually, though, you’re led to a final door that whooshes open. You’re in a sort of small foyer. “Welcome, Kylo Ren,” greets an inhuman voice. “And- unidentified guest.”

He puts up a hand to stop you, and you hear the whooshes and beeps of cameras studying you. “Memorize guest,” he instructs the voice.

There was nothing like this strange technology on D’Qar. “Memorizing guest.” You stay entirely still for a long moment as the sounds continue. “Identify guest.”

“My name is-” you start, but he speaks over you, indifferent to the fact that you were speaking.

“Whore,” he informs the computer casually.

“Memorizing- Whore.” It repeats the word in its own synthesized voice, though it has the same dignified boredom to it that Kylo had. “Welcome, Whore.”

He leads you past the entryway to the living area- the furniture is expensive, sleek, and seemingly comfortable, but the lack of personality throughout it is almost telling in and of itself. The floor, ceiling, and walls are the same mildly reflective black- chrome(?) as the rest of the ship, the furnishing every shade from white to black- mostly a deep coal color. “You don’t have a name anymore,” he tells you. “You have no need for one.”

“Yes- sir,” you say. Sir? It doesn’t feel right.

“Strip,” he tells you, and you do. He points to the garbage chute, and with one unhappy goodbye frown, you send your clothes down. You almost got shot stealing those boots. “That cheap jewelry, too.” You try not to be offended- and fail- as you drop the lavender bead bracelet Poe had gifted you into the chute. It feels like a betrayal, even more so than agreeing to happily relay whatever information he was trying so hard to protect. “Turn.” You do, standing tall, looking at him. His eyes are studying your body and you’re unabashed, confident as he does. “You’ll shave,” he says, glancing from your pussy to your legs. “Everything.”

“Sir,” you say unsurely. “Waxing produces better results.” And it’s hotter- at least to you. He gives a short nod, presumably an indifferent allowance.

“You’ll get a haircut, too,” he says. “Something to compliment your face better.”  _ Ouch _ . You don’t react. “Come.” He walks off, and you follow. “You can freely utilize the living and dining rooms- and kitchen, if you’d like. You may use the library if I’m not in it- you’ll ask before entering my office. You have your own bedroom and bath- I won’t bother you there, but if you  _ hide _ from me when I summon you, you will lose that privilege.”

“Yes, sir.”

“During intercourse- when I summon you- is the only time you’re permitted in my bedroom.” He leads you into a bedroom- considering the vaguely lived in state of things, you assume it’s his. The room is large and sparse, the bed the largest you’ve ever seen. “Perhaps, like today, I may bring you here for unique occasions.”

“We’re not- having intercourse today?”

“No,” he says, paying the patch of hair on your mons pubis a glance. You try to keep the scowl off your face- a preference was one thing, but- you silence yourself. He can hear you, you remind yourself. He leads you into his bathroom- a giant, glorious wetroom as clean as anything you’ve ever seen. The open shower has several spouts and buttons, and you hope your own bathroom has so many curiosities to explore. He places you near the drain, then turns you around. He’s still wearing all of his clothes, his helmet, his gloves. “I’m apparently feeling particularly kind today,” he remarks offhandedly. “So I’ll warn you a bit- I’m going to  _ break _ you, to hurt you. You’ll be humiliated, pained- you’ll feel desolate at times, alone, useless. I don’t care. You’ll deal with these emotions on your own- or not at all. But you’ll submit to me always, bratty as you may be, and you’ll continue on. You can feel free to have whatever emotions or responses you’d like- your struggles will only make your decimation more pleasurable for me- I don’t care if you scowl at me, or pout, or whine, or beg, or cry.”

You stare at the emotionless eyes. “Yes, sir.” You think he wants you to regret your decision, or grovel, but you’re not in the mood right now- that will come, you’re sure of it. This is going to be- a rollercoaster, for you. He’ll get what he wants- and unless he commands you act for him, you won’t. He’s made it clear he doesn’t care, now.

He backs up, at least accepting of your response, and one of the detachable shower heads flies into his hand. You jump at the unexpected motion-  _ the Force _ , you assume. The shower sputters to life and cold water finds your feet seconds before he turns the water on you-  _ freezing cold water _ \- and you give out a startled shriek. It’s all a pained, cold blur after that- you back up instinctively- it’s on you full force, so strong it dents your skin and hurts your face. It’s like thousands of tiny needles, and he makes sure to direct it at every single inch of skin- you’re almost sure your nipples could shatter. You stumble and trip against the wall, and realize he’s been walking with you. You can’t try and focus on the sight of him without him turning the water to your face, so you stop trying. You feel yourself frozen in place then, still sputtering and gasping in between jets of the icy water suffocating you. The beam starts focusing on your face solely, then- you swivel and scream and sputter in terror as you try to fight for a breath, to no avail. You’re flailing against your invisible restraints, coughing up the cold water only to accidentally breathe more in. Your lungs are on fire and your body is in full panic mode, your brain not fully remembering that he’s not going to kill you right here and now. As you feel yourself threatening to slip under, certain your lungs are going to be shoved out of your mouth any moment- everything stops. The water shuts off, the Force suppressing you lets up, and your lungs, though burning, are free from water. You collapse against the ice cold tile, shaking violently, curling up to hug yourself- but every part of you is just as cold as the rest. He’s naked in front of you, standing there, watching you calmly whimper into the air, traumatized. He sends the spout back to its place on the wall, then turns the hot water on- it feels boiling to your icy skin, but you can’t will yourself to move. He kicks your shoulder gently- more a nudge, really.

“Are you conscious?”

Are you? His words come through, so you must be- your eyes are open. It takes several long moments to speak- “Yes.” He takes his cock and strokes it slowly, but he isn’t hard A surreal moment passes as you see him nonchalantly take aim at your face, and before you know it, a stream of boiling piss is striking your face, your tits, your hips. You don’t move, but you pause your breaths so you don’t breathe it in.

Maybe the droids would have been preferable.


	2. Update

I swear I'm working on it! I've been in and out of the hospital and it's taken me some time. I'm almost done with this and a couple other SW fics I'm writing! I'm so sorry :'(


	3. Sufficient

“Get up,” he tells you, and you do. The water cleans you quickly enough. He grabs a bottle of shampoo and squirts a dollop into his hand. “Come here.” He lathers it into your hair with relatively gentle hands. You close your eyes at the pleasant feeling of being cared for- you lean into his collar before you can consider maybe that’s not the best idea. He doesn’t tense or chastise you, though, so you stay there. He’s searing against your still-cold skin, but both he and the water are slowly becoming more bearable. Not that it would matter, anyway. When he’s done, he rinses it out of your hair for you, again more tender than you’d have expected- maybe he likes to pamper. An image of him bouncing wildly between sweetness and  _ torture _ crosses your mind, and you find yourself a lot more into it than you’d have expected. His eye and lips twitch very briefly, and you know that he likes that you like what he’s got in store for you. He meets your gaze for a brief moment, and you’re struck by how beautiful his face is. Then, he grabs a bottle of conditioner to continue.

“What do I call you?” you ask gently. Sir? Master? Daddy? Just Kylo? Or maybe even-?

“Don’t call me Kylo,” he says sharply. “And don’t even  _ think _ Ben. Sir is acceptable. Master is also good. Daddy is-” his eyes flicker with a playful glint. “Perhaps best for a bit more  _ ‘tender’ _ session like this.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you say softly.  _ Sessions _ .  _ Intercourse. _ So medical, so vague. There’s a chill down your spine at the impression of it. You’re silent as he scrubs your body, leaving the conditioner in your hair to set. His hands are sure and steady, kneading and massaging your skin well. You moan gently and coo several times, much to your surprise; showers generally never felt this good. You feel small, and-  _ simple _ . Like a pet. He hums in approval at that thought. Coyly, you press against his touch and pur at it.

It’s almost like he didn’t just piss on your face. It’s almost like he didn’t almost drown you. The memory of it as his fingers glide across your hip is enough to excite you. It’s so strange- you’re so turned on at the thought of it, how stunned you were, how dizzy, just moments ago. He actually gives you a small, brief smile. “You’ll be quite sufficient,” he mutters.

_ Sufficient _ . Your heart flutters as if he’d called you pretty. His eye twitches again, and you’re taken once more by the beauty of him. “Thank you,”

He lets out a soft hum in lieu of an answer. You watch his head lean to the side, his handsome face taken with concentration, his wet black curls hanging onto his shoulders. “You enjoy looking at me,” he observes off-handedly.

“Yes,” you say softly.

“Hmm,” he says again, seeming to decide on his reaction to that. He gives no sign of his choice as he steps back, your hair and body all cleaned up. “Dry off. Wait on my bed.”

“Yes, sir,” you say and do as he bade. You can hear the shower running still as you sit on the satin sheets of his unbelievably comfortable bed, and you wonder if he sent you away because he doesn’t like that you like to look at him. You imagine what he must look like, eyes closed, water drops sliding down his muscular body, his hands working shampoo through his glorious hair.

What you wouldn’t give to be a droplet licking down his perfect abdomen onto his gorgeous, large, girthy-

The water shuts off and you can vaguely hear him dry himself, hear him change. When he walks into his room, he wears loose bottoms hanging low on his hips, revealing that tantalizing v pointing to the very thing you cannot get out of your head. He glances at you for a long moment as if he’d forgotten about you, then stands in front of you. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, reluctant to take up too much of his space, but now you’re afraid you’d missed something in his voice that might have urged you to be a bit more provocative, a bit more ready. You see the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Your acute concern is- amusing,” he says softly. “But I’ll remind you, I’m not going to bed you tonight.”

Oh. Right. Your heart sinks.  _ At least I didn’t displease him _ , you think. You  _ hope _ . He’s very difficult to read. He smirks, just for a moment, before running a hand through your hair. You shudder at the touch, and he uses his other hand to stroke your cheek. He’s petting you as you sight there, and you’re incapable of doing anything but shuddering, leaning into his touch, cooing, eyes fluttering.

“Such an easy pet to please,” he taunts you. You shiver again at his words, then feel his thumb on your bottom lip, then your tongue. You lavish it instinctively, and he hisses approval, then replaces it with one, two, three fingers. He starts to fuck your mouth with and and still you suck, though your tongue ceases its dance around his digits. You moan as he stops and removes his hand. “You’re dismissed.”

You blink, trying to reorient yourself- that little moment sort of took you out of reality. His words have barely registered before you stand and, not wanting to annoy him, scurry out of his room.


End file.
